


Supertinydom's Fahc Drabbles

by Onlymostydead



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol, Alternate Universe GTA, Angst, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Fake AH Crew, Implied Past Abuse, Minor Character Death, Other, Prostitution, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, implied/referenced past prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2018-11-07 15:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11062131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onlymostydead/pseuds/Onlymostydead
Summary: A variety of different oneshot/drabbles I've written for Fahc.Tags vary from Drabble to Drabble- I'll tag write what warnings apply to each in the notes.





	1. Ryan Backstory

**Author's Note:**

> Blood, violence, death, murder, brainwashing, torture, interrogation, controlling behavior.

James's fists pounded against the mans face in rapid succession, their rhythm undisturbed by his meager attempts to dodge. Blood erupted from their twisted lump of a nose, dripping down into their mouth.  
The man spat, a mixture of blood, saliva, and curses James didn't know, before trying to sneak in a punch. They were fast, reflexes impressive for a man of their size.  
James, however, was faster.  
Like lightning he dodged the blow intended for his gut, whipping around the man and landing a solid blow to the backs of their knees.  
Letting out a cry, more English curses James couldn't understand, they fell to their knees. With this opportunity James resumed his attack on the man's face, battering their jaw and cheeks nonstop with an intense ferocity.  
The man fell to the ground with a heavy thud, leaving a red smear of blood where his head landed.  
Most times, this was victory.  
James knew that this time, this time it wasn't over here.  
He strode over to the fallen man, turning them onto their back. His hands shot out, clasping around the man's neck.  
He hesitated.  
If for a moment, his hands wrapped around but not quite squeezing their windpipe, James hesitated. His breathing came fast, eyes wide but his eyebrows furrowed with determination. His face, still soft, was spattered with the man's blood, his small hands were covered in it.  
In that moment, hovering over his unconscious opponent, James was afraid.

That, however, lasted only a moment.

With the same speed as before he squeezed as tight as he could. His hands didn't make it all the way around the man's neck, but still he put all his might into it. They twitched, fingers shaking and tense as their body screamed silently for air. 

It wasn't long until they went limp, and James could no longer hear the raspy attempts for breath coming from their mouth.  
Only eleven, and James was a murderer.

***

"(Too slow. You should have done better.)" They chided, face cold and stern as always.

James only nodded, heading back out to the training floor to redo the exercise. His muscles ached with fatigue, his arms feeling like lead as he squared them once more.  
The man approaches once more, they too squaring themself to fight. Their brow glistened with sweat, feet dragging as they struggled to hold proper form. It should be easy enough to take them down. Their feet shuffle, eyebrows knit into a scowl.  
It was easy.

***

James didn't know where they found these men, but he knew where they got rid of them.  
After the final punch he wastes no time in checking the man's pulse. It's always there, but weak. Quickly he wraps his still small hands around the neck of his opponent, squeezing until the pulse stopped.  
He would then carefully bag the body, slinging it over his shoulder. Dragging it behind him he would make his way to the garbage chute and dump it in, careful to not tear the bag.

He never thought of it as a person.

It was just an opponent.

It was just a body.

***

As time went on his performance was unsatisfactory, providing more and more opportunities for punishment. No matter how hard James tried he couldn't be fast enough. He couldn't down the opponent fast enough no matter the weapon in use.  
So he was pushed harder, harder. When he failed the punishments were agonizing. When he succeeded there was no reward other than his own satisfaction in a job well done.

His back burned from the many cuts that had been placed there- burning with shame and regret that he couldn't be good enough. Pushing the pain into the back of his mind James made his way to the training room.  
It was too late for anyone to be in there- but that was perfect. He had to improve. If he didn't, he knew what would happen.

"(I do not tolerate failures.)" He could hear Sir's voice ringing in his head.

So James set up the training dummies, arranging them like real targets would try to hide.  
With deadly precision he threw his knives- lodging into the jugulars of each one.

***

James trailed closely behind Sir's man, careful to observe everything that went on.  
They were talking- something in English that James didn't understand. All he caught were names and addresses, snippets of information that he wrote down on the scrap of paper he had hidden in his pocket.  
He wasn't supposed to have it- but he kept it regardless. He wanted to know what these things meant.

***

James set up the camera with care as his captive writhed- attempting to escape his bonds. Again he checked the connection- making sure the video feed to Sir was clear and secure.  
The camera faced toward the bound man- and James was careful not to block its shot as he made his way over to him. 

"Where are Ramsey's men?" James read off the note given to him by Sir.

He didn't know what the words meant- the word Ramsey was eerily familiar but in context it meant nothing to him.  
It seemed to mean something to his hostage, however. The man began to squirm more beneath the ropes, as if he could get away. His lips remained sealed, however.  
Unfortunate for him.  
With a click of the tongue James produced a small butterfly knife from his jacket, stepping closer to the man.  
He drew an X on his hand with it, careful to make the cut clear. He drew more X's to follow that one on his body- one just above his left collarbone, another on his right shoulder, and another on his left side.  
One more he carved into the middle of the man's chest.

James, of course, knew that if done correctly a bullet wound through these places wouldn't kill him, but he had bet correctly that the hostage did not know.  
Slowly, for theatricality' sake, he cocked his gun. Stalking calmly around the man he never saw the gunshot to his hand coming.  
The man screamed in pain, attempting to clasp his hand to staunch the flow of blood.

"Where are Ramsey's men?" James repeated.

The man blubbered something that James couldn't understand- but Sir hadn't made the call for him to stop.  
Clicking his tongue again James sauntered around the man's chair. Once, twice, enough to make him wonder what would really come next.

BANG

The bullet tore a clean hole through the man's shoulder- right at the middle of the X.  
Once more he howled in pain- turning his head to face the wound. Blood poured out- coating the ropes.

"Where are Ramsey's men?" James growled once more.

No answer- followed by the shot above his collarbone.

"Where are Ramsey's men?" James kept his voice level and cold this time. 

The man shrunk down in fear- but gave no answer.

BANG

A hole in his side- pouring blood that dripped down onto the warehouse floor.

"Where are Ramsey's men?" 

The man cowered, tears streaming down his face- blubbering something James didn't understand.  
Still no word from Sir.  
James shot him through the chest- narrowly missing his heart in the way he had intended.  
The man screamed- half a dozen terrified words. Once he had spoken he began the sob violently- refusing to face his captor.  
James's phone chimed.

Sir: (Leave him be)

Putting his phone away, James turned off the camera and packed it safely back into its bag. Once more he produced the butterfly knife, and once more he approached the hostage.

"Please! Please!" He cried, the only words James understood, at least.

With care he carved another X- right in the middle of his forehead.

"Please!"

BANG

***

James bit his lip and cursed his luck- hastily throwing on the mask and hurrying to Sir's room. What Sir could want he had no clue- had he found something that he had done wrong? The scrap of paper weighed down his picked like a stone.

"(What is it, Sir.)" James stood at attention- hands clasped behind his back. 

"(I have a mission for you.)" Sir's cold voice- always put through a scrambler of some sort- flooded the dark room.

"(Yes, Sir)" James immediately replied, habit at this point. 

"(I need you to monitor the Fake AH Crew. You will be hired by them and you will give me updates as to their plans weekly- or when something important arises. Is this clear?)" Sir explained.

"(Yes, Sir.)" 

"(Good. Arrangements have been made- you will find an envelope in your quarters with all the information you need.)"

"(Yes, Sir.)"


	2. Michael - Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied past abuse, implied past sexual abuse, past trauma, injury, panic attack.
> 
> Relationship Implied OT7.

Michael hides the answers beneath his gloves, hides from the contact in his jacket. The only one who has touched him is Caleb- and only then to treat his many injuries. Caleb swears that every time he touches him Michael flinches away as if he'd been burned. Afterward he washes and scrubs at the point of contact- he's ripped stitches like that before. No amount of antiseptic wipes and rubbing alcohol will wash it away.

Jeremy can remember the time he touched Michael's face- what a mistake that was. It was meant to be a small gesture, a comforting one.   
But it was all in the way Michael stiffened, his eyes widening and glossing over in fear. The way he whimpered and began to cry, unable to pull away from the contact. Jeremy could tell that Michael wasn't seeing him anymore, not with the way his breaths came quicker and quicker, catching on every inhale. Not with the way he tensed up and went completely still other than the shake of his shoulders.  
Jeremy spent hours talking to him softly, never raising his voice above a whisper. Talking him down from whatever he was seeing, whatever he could feel.

The leather gloves are supposedly a fashion choice- just another element of a costume. At least that's what he told Geoff. Still he wrings his hands rather than join in a handshake, shrinking away from high fives. He jumps away from being patted on the back, refusing and avoiding hugs at all costs, trading them for smaller, more tolerable, gestures.  
Why? 

The crew may never get to know- but they learn and adapt as it is. Small compliments, kind words go a long way with Michael- especially if he trusts that they're sincere. Love doesn't depend on touch, and they do love him. It doesn't matter if they can never kiss him, can never touch him.  
Mustering up the courage and resolve to hold one of their hands can take days- even with the gloves. But they'll always reassure him that it isn't necessary. He doesn't need to touch them to let them know he cares.

One day he might tell them about how he was hurt. How kisses and warm embraces were always followed by pain. How he had said that he loved him- but really he just loved how pliable he was. How he could mold Michael into being anything he wanted him to be.

Michael's hands, they're covered in scars from touching the wrong people, from trusting and loving the ones who do nothing but hurt.  
Why do you fear to touch?

Because of the things that follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was based off a prompt I saw on Tumblr- had a lot of fun, actually.


	3. Beginnings- Michael/Ray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alcohol, implied/referenced past prostitution, referenced past abuse, a lot of sad, suicidal thoughts.

"When did you start?" Michael laughed, pointing at Ray with his bottle.

"What?" Ray tore his gaze away from his DS.

"When did you start the criminal life?" Michael asked again.

"14." Ray replied, turning his attention back to the DS screen.

"Wait, fourteen years old? Or like, 2014?" Jeremy questioned, setting down his own bottle.

"Fourteen years old." Ray said absently, his attention elsewhere.

"But tha's so young!" Gavin squawked, draping himself over the couch and lacing his head in Ray's lap. "Tha's too young."

"No, that is when I started." Said Ray.

"But why?" Jeremy pushed Gavin off the couch so he could sit there.

Gavin shrieked.

"I needed the money." Ray replied 

"Didn't you like... Feel bad about it?" Michael sat to Ray's other side, setting down his bottle.

"No." Ray scoffed.

"What?" Gavin said, disbelief ringing in his voice.

"I'm a weird fuck who likes murdering people." Ray said sarcastically, tapping at the buttons of his game a bit faster.

"No but seriously, what?" Michael asked.

"I actually didn't know." Ray leaned closer to the screen of his DS.

Didn't know what?" Jeremy asked, pressing in closer.

"That not everyone wanted to die." Ray's voice was deadpan serious.

They asked more questions, pressing more and more with their breath that stunk like alcohol until Ray left the room, and his drunken boyfriends to their antics.

***

"I mean, I started that young- but it was different." Michael breathed, lowering the cigarette from his lips.

"How was it different?" Ray inquired.

"You damn well know." Michael spat.

And Ray did. He knew all the characters and the plot of Michael's sob story- asshole of a mother, promising boyfriend turned fiend, and life of sex and drugs far before he was even close to legal age. It wasn't fair was Michael's mantra- one he clung onto.   
He would make the world pay for what it had done to him.

"We were both forced into situations we couldn't get out of- I just went more willingly than most." Ray finally said, resting his head on Michael's shoulder.

"I think it's always like that- with us at least." Michael offered, voice barely above a soft mumble.

"Yeah, I guess." Ray said clearly, yet the statement almost seemed like a question.

"I mean, we both know what happened to us." Michael glanced over at Ray, thinking about how their lives had been. "Gav and Jack were always on the streets, Jeremy grew up with it, Ryan was practically brainwashed- we really do start young, don't we?"

Michael's face was somewhere between crying, snarling, and just plain pity. "Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be normal."

"Me too, man. Me too." Ray leaned in closer, letting his eyes flutter shut.

"But there's no fucking use in 'what if's,' is there?" Michael spat. "We're still the same even if we pretend things could have happened differently. No use in wondering."

Ray glanced up at Michael, taking note of the tears welling up in his eyes. Michael was always the practical one- the one with both feet firmly planted on the ground. Once he made his mind about something he didn't turn back, he never did.  
Ray was the one who wondered, who tried everything to get that but of happiness he so desperately missed. Hell, he had spent years of his life searching for a father that didn't exist because he thought that that might make his life better. By the end he was just more sad and lonely than he was at the start.  
But that was in the past- it didn't matter. It only mattered what he did from there.

"Keep moving forward, right?" Ray murmured, letting his eyes fall shut.

"Yeah." Michael whispered, letting his shoulders relax.

Regardless, Ray would daydream for the two of them. Michael could have been so much more- he wanted to be an actor and always had the skill for it. He wanted to make a name for himself just by what he himself had done. Maybe if he had been born to a different mother, if he hadn't gotten caught up with the wrong crowd- maybe then he'd be able to pursue that dream.  
Ray didn't know, but he wished better for him regardless. They were both too young when their lives were taken away from them- but Michael, Michael never had a chance to turn back. He was forced into the life of crime where Ray went willingly.

"You deserved better." Ray breathed into the night.

"We all did." Michael whispered back, leaning a bit closer and letting the tears go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh buddy. This was bad.


	4. Ages of Crew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a lot of shit. Pretty much every tag.  
> Careful kiddos.

16.  
Geoff was sixteen when he left his first graffiti on the Denny's near his house. It was just a dick- it didn't really matter- but regardless it spurred something in him.  
Doing it made him feel alive.

8.  
Jack was eight years of when they stole first. It was only a bit of food but it began their way through life. Stealing to have enough to eat, to wear, to be able to keep themself clean.  
It was a matter of survival.

7.  
Ryan was seven years old when he was first taken by them. He was forced to do terrible things until they were second nature to him, until he didn't think they were wrong.  
It was just routine.

9.  
Michael was nine when he started his first fire. It was the first really illegal thing he had done- far beyond the petty assault charges he had been sent to juvie for.  
It was just to watch everything burn. 

10.  
Gavin was ten when he tried his hand at stealing for himself. Dan had always done it in the past- but now he wanted to do it.   
It was to support the two of them.

12.  
Ray was twelve when he first stole weed from his mom's boyfriend. The boyfriend didn't stick around long, but the addiction sure did.   
It was to finally feel happy.

-unknown-  
Jeremy was around crime for as long as he could remember- assisted it, even did the acts. He knew it wasn't how others lived and he didn't care.  
It was for family.

***

20.  
Geoff was twenty when he moved to Los Santos. He wanted to make a new life for himself and he knew this was the place to start. Graffiti and petty theft didn't excite him anymore- he needed something bigger than that.  
It was a new name, a new city, and building a new reputation.

-Unknown-  
Jack had lived in Los Santos for as long as they could remember- fighting their way through the ranks until most people knew and feared them. They had gone from stealing food to stealing vehicles- and selling them to gangs for enough money to live on.  
It was a way of life.

17.  
Ryan was seventeen went he was told they were moving bases again- this time to the crime capital of the country; Los Santos. He greeted it with a hushed, "Yes Sir," and prepared what few things he was allowed to have.  
It wasn't a big deal- it was just how they operated.

14.  
Michael was fourteen when they moved him to Los Santos- though he wouldn't learn that until later. He had no way of knowing where they were, what he was doing, or even what name they were selling him as. All he knew was that he had to get away.  
It was out of his control.

16.  
Gavin was sixteen when Dan presented him with the money to go to the US. He had refused, said that he had to stay with Dan. It wasn't an option, though. The police were too close onto Gavin- he had to get out of the country. He boarded the plane to Los Santos with faked papers and tears in his eyes.  
It was a matter of survival.

13.  
Ray was thirteen when they moved to Los Santos. His mom talked about opportunities- but he knew that it was just cheaper to live there. They couldn't afford their apartment in New York anymore- not and pay for the both of them to live.  
It was for the money.

17.  
Jeremy was seventeen when he ran away from the Boston mafia, with nothing but his backpack and his best friend. Matt and he knew that it was dangerous to go to Los Santos- but it was the best option they had. They were in the life too deep.  
It was to get away.

***

25.  
Geoff was twenty five when he broke off from the roosters to make his own crew. He wanted something of his own, a new life separate from the one he had with them.  
It was independence.

25.  
Jack was twenty five when Geoff Ramsey approached them about being in his crew. Turns out the crew was only the two of them- but they made it work.  
It was for the money- but became much more.

22.  
Ryan was twenty two when he was told to join the Fake ah Crew. He obeyed with a hushed 'yes sir' and went willingly. Later they would become his family- his lifeblood.   
For now they were just an order.

17.  
Michael was seventeen when he caught Geoff's attention. He had gotten out of the previous life he had been trapped in- now he was an underground fighter called Mogar. He jumped at the opportunity to be a part of the crew- and the safety that came with it.  
It was running to somewhere better.

18.  
Gavin had just turned eighteen when he was contacted by the Fake ah crew. They needed a good hacker and he was that- and they were offering more money than Gavin had ever seen in his whole life.  
It was for the money.

16.  
Ray was sixteen when he joined the crew- though none of them quite remember how. He was just suddenly there one day, and Geoff was paying him.   
It was for the security.

17.  
Jeremy was seventeen when he approached Geoff Ramsey for a job. He knew what weight his name carried, and needed to be on the right side of the Fakes to survive. Soon he wouldn't be able to imagine life without them.  
It was out of necessity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shrug*


	5. Stitches -Jack/Ryan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Injury, implied self injury, blood.
> 
> Relationship- Jack/Ryan (Implied)

It wasn't always like this.   
Ryan winced as Jack pulled the suture through their skin- it didn't hurt in feeling as much as it did to watch, but somehow they couldn't tear their eyes away from the needle passing through pale skin- sewing shut their cuts.  
There was a time when they would be doing this themself- stitching up their wounds with far less skill and far worse scars to prove the tale. Ryan could do it themself, that was easy enough to say. They would always be able to tend to these kinds of wounds- to lie and say he got then when he was out, but it wasn't nearly the same.  
Sure, they could live without Jack. Their life didn't revolve around her no matter how bright she was. Ryan didn't need her to be complete.  
But things weren't always this way- and it was never the same.  
Without her Ryan would be stitching up their wounds alone, self inflicted or not. Without her Ryan would still struggle to find meaning in all their bloodshed and orders.  
While they didn't need her to survive, having someone who cares was the best feeling in the world. Someone to stitch up their wounds at four o'clock in the morning- and knowing they would do the same for her. Because Jack never saw wounds as failures but as lessons- as opportunities to learn. As breaks in the routine to fill with love.  
Ryan only wishes that they could feel the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Tumblr prompt.


	6. Memory- Ryan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Memory loss, referenced brainwashing, murder, death.

"If you don't mind me asking... What do you remember?" Geoff asked softly, leaning in close.

Ryan hummed to themself, closing their eyes to concentrate. After all the years it was hard to try to think of what once was- before he was a weapon.

"I remember... There was a house. It was small, and in the middle of the woods. It took us hours to get there- but I can never remember traveling." Ryan scrunched their eyebrows, focusing harder on the details of the fuzzy image.

"The sunlight was always streaming through the windows- I don't think the sun set there. And my grandma was always kneading the bread there- at the window. She asked me to help her sometimes- and I would have kneaded the dough forever if it meant I got to hear all of her stories."

Ryan laughed. "Funny now, that I don't remember a single one."

"She would tell stories as she taught me how to make the bread- and my grandfather would be humming along to an old tune that I don't think anyone knows anymore. He'd laugh at as with flour on our faces- saying we looked like ghosts."

Ryan swallowed. "I asked them what death was like- or if they thought they knew. They would laugh to my face and grandma would tell me that the dough was almost kneaded- but they would talk to my parents afterwards, late at night. I listened to them when I was supposed to be asleep."

"I remember that they were afraid for me- that something would happen. I remember flames, and I-" Ryan stopped abruptly, tears rising in their eyes.

"I'm sorry- I can't-" They stammered, and Geoff embraced them softly.

"It's okay, you don't have to talk about it." Geoff reassured.

But Ryan knew what they had done. They remembered the match- the spark. They remember watching the little house in the woods burn to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another Tumblr Prompt.


	7. The Edge- Michael/Ray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicidal thoughts/ideation, past suicide attempts, alcohol, drug use.

"I just. I don't want to live anymore. It's honestly as simple as that." Ray said quietly, resting his head on Michael's shoulder.

It wasn't rare for the two of them to make their way up to the roof and just talk- Michael with a bottle of gin, Ray with his bong. Sometimes it was just reflections on the past, sometimes it turned into whatever the hell this was.  
Their legs dangled dangerously off the edge- so close yet so far from the pavement below.

"I really can't think of a reason to continue anymore." Ray's eyes fluttered shut, setting his bong down beside him.

"Don't say shit like that," Michael said, wrapping an arm around him. "You've gotta outlive me- remember?"

Ray laughed, deep and genuine as he leaned a bit further over the edge of the roof.

"But even you've gotta wonder- when does life stop being a good thing to do? When you're hurting more people than you're helping? When you're so dependent on drugs or alcohol to keep you going that you have no life outside of all that?" Ray cast a sideways glance at Michael. "When you know that you're just hurting someone, but regardless you refuse to leave them?" 

Michael took another swig, unsure of whether he should scoot closer or further to Ray. He knew how he hurt everyone he touched- but Ray thought that line was about himself.

"You don't. You don't hurt me, Ray. Trust me." Michael stammered out, head reeling from the thoughts and the alcohol. 

He feared how dizzy he was- how close the ground below him looked. Ray laughed in response, swaying away ever so slightly.

"But as much as I want to do it, honestly I don't care. I've tried trying to give my life purpose, I've tried 'reinventing' myself whatever the hell that means, and it's just come up empty." Ray spoke in a low whisper. "I've tried to kill myself before- just never succeeded. I've done pills, I've slit my wrists, tried to get the police to kill me, but I'm still here."

Ray chuckled darkly. "Never jumped before."

"Come on- lets go back inside." Michael offered, pulling himself up to his feet and stepping away from the edge.

Ray followed when Michael took his hand, lingering behind for a moment until the pull on his hoodie sleeve became too much. He would follow Michael inside for tonight.

Who could say about tomorrow?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buddy. Pal. This is shit I'm sorry.


	8. You look Terrible.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was an exercise in using as many dialogue prompts as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicidal thoughts/ideation, Self hatred, prostitution, abuse.  
> Micheoff.

"You look terrible." 

Michael scoffed. "I've looked worse." 

Geoff stared at Michael as he shut the door and set down his keys.  
How had he been so blind?  
His usual curves seem jagged and sharp- thin and worn away. Bruises splatter his deathly pale skin, and blood drips from his chapped lips. His hair is dirty and wild- his eyes sunken and lifeless.

Geoff started. "Michael, please. I-" 

"Save it for someone who cares, Ramsey." Michael cut him off, stumbling over to the fridge. "Some of us just don't give a damn anymore."

Geoff could feel the way his eyes started to water- but he knew that wasn't what he should do.

"Please, you can't keep living like this, Michael." He pleaded, fighting the tears.

"Or what, Geoffrey? It's my body, I can break it if I want to." Michael sneered, popping open a can and heading for his room.

"Wait-" Geoff shot out his arm to stop him- grabbing one thin arm. 

Michael flinched away, throwing his elbow towards Geoff with surprising force.

"What is it you used to say: 'If my liver doesn't fail by the time I'm 35, do me a favor and kill me'? Give it a rest." Michael shot back before turning to disappear down the hallway.

***

Sometimes, Geoff hated the choices he had made. He honestly wondered what would have happened if he had ignored him- but reasonably speaking he knew that he couldn't have.

He had been so young- so helpless. A pair of baggy sweatpants and a ragged tee shirt were all that he had to his name, bloodshot eyes stained with the remnants of eyeliner.

"Please- I- 'M willing to do what most aren't willing to- and not for much." Geoff can remember his voice- sniffling and broken.

"How much are you asking?" Geoff had said- more out of formality than actual meaning.

Michael had given him an amount- and Geoff gave it to him. Brought the shivering kid home to the penthouse. He looked so damn relieved to be out of the rain that it was like he didn't even care he thought came next.

"Do you want me here- or where?" Michael tone had quivered so much, but his face remained fairly calm.

"Keep your clothes on, kid. Actually- I'll find something warm and dry for you. This rain is hell." Geoff remembered he had said- or something like that at least.

"No- I can't possibly-"

"Take the offer or leave, kid." Geoff had interrupted.

"I'll- thank you, Sir." Michael replied so quickly- scared to death Geoff would change his mind.

***

It had been so simple then- but Michael always wondered when it would snap. He pushed at Geoff, wondering when he would finally realize that he wasn't worth it- when Geoff would finally start hating him.

At first Geoff was fine with the sex- Michael claimed it wasn't pressured, that it was just what he wanted. As time when on Geoff started to notice the pattern, it was like a punishment to him- or like he was trying to repay Geoff for something he had done.  
Not wanting to be an enabler he stopped giving it to him- which was possible worse. Michael became panicked and odd- terrified that he had outlived his use.

"Do you hate me?" Michael's words echoed, over and over like the tears falling from his eyes.

"Do you hate me?" Repeated like that Geoff knew that 'No' wasn't an answer he would believe, but still he gave it. 

"No, it's not you I hate." Geoff had said- and it was true.

He hated himself for not being able to be enough for him- for not being able to give the love and support Michael so desperately needed. Geoff wrapped his arms around him- a hopeless attempt to calm him down. Still he sobbed into Geoff's shoulder, still he clung to him as if he would push him away.

"I love you, Michael. I love you so much." He whispered, and Michael pulled away.

"You're lying. No one loves me." He muttered, wiping his eyes. "'M sorry for being such a bitch- you probably-"

"I could never hate you." Geoff cut him off, laying a hand on his shoulder.

***

But it had been years since then- years of Michael weaving himself further into the web of lies he himself created. He could only see the evidence that backed his side, so damn stubborn sometimes Geoff swore it would get him killed.  
So he let boyfriend after boyfriend walk all over him- giving in to their demands in return for hollow sentiments.  
So he fought and won- beating everyone on his path to a bloody pulp.  
So he convinced himself that he wasn't good enough to eat, to sleep, to survive.

***

"You don't get it, Geoff. I'm not fucking real! People use me and go- beyond that I'm dead weight!" Michael screamed, tears pouring down his face. From the slur in his voice and how bloodshot his eyes were Geoff knew he was drunk.

He was only ever this emotional when he was drunk- or at least he only showed it then. He would yell and scream then break down- begging to be forgiven.

"Michael, that's not true- you're not-"

"Stop lying! Stop fucking-" Michael's voice broke off in a sob and suddenly he was just a fifteen-year-old kid in the rain again, looking up at Geoff with pleading eyes.

Geoff wrapped him up in a hug, holding his shaking body close. 

"I- I'm drowning, and- and I just... I just want to be able to feel something again." Michael whispered into Geoff's shoulder, arms latched tight around him.

***

But in the morning Michael is sober- and if he remembered last night he would never show it.  
He ate his breakfast in silence, not once looking up to face Geoff. When he left the apartment it was with the presumption of going to fight.  
Geoff would normally beg him not to go, tell him that he was destroying himself. He was shocked at himself as he just let him go, watching as he walked out the door.  
There was only so much he could do- and in the end saving Michael wasn't something he could accomplish. He could only hope that Michael would make that choice. No matter how much you love someone you can't love away their every problem.

***

"You don't get it, do you you, Geoff?" Michael had sneered, nursing a black eye and a bloodstained face- holding the ice to his face with a bloody-knuckled hand.

"You keep asking why I keep fighting- and you wanna know why?" Michael leaned forward, setting down the ice. "Because there will never be enough blood on my hands to satisfy me."

***

But when Michael gets back it's strangely... Calm. No bruises or cuts other than the ones Geoff knows his boyfriend leaves- no matter now much Michael denies it- no trail of tears running down his face- no screaming or yelling- only a sad sigh as he flops down on the couch beside Geoff, a bottle of water in hand.

"You doing alright?" Geoff dared, stealing a glance over at him.

Michael rested his heavy head on Geoff's shoulder, letting his eyes fall shut.

"I'm just so tired." He breathed, and Geoff could feel the ache and exhaustion.

Moments and minutes passed, Geoff's eyes too wandering shut.

"I love you." Geoff murmured under his breath, leaning his head towards Michael's.

Michael gave a small snore in response.

***

"You were going to leave me behind anyways, I just decided to leave first." The note left on the counter read- and Michael was gone.

***

"But you promised! You said that you'd always love me!" Michael cried, clenching his trembling fists.

Will stood in the doorway, rolling his eyes.

"I lied- get over it." He scoffed, going to close the door.

"I trusted you!" Michael screamed, planting his feet on the ground in a defensive stance.

Despite this, Will remained calm. He knew Michael wouldn't hit him- he was just getting emotional.

"That's your fault- not mine." He commented, but he didn't close the door. "I can't keep pretending that I love you."

Watching Michael break down like this was almost comical- he didn't want to miss it. His cheeks were tear streaked, body tensed as if to fight. 

"But why?" Michael sobbed, his shoulders dropping.

"Why what?" Will shot back.

"Why did you do this to me? Was I not good enough for you?" He said, the tears flowing freely down his face.

"You were just a convenient fuck- nothing more. Get over it." 

Michael growled, back to the defensive. "You can’t just touch someone like that and not mean it. You can’t look at me the way you did and say it was never love.”

"Maybe you loved me, I don't care. I don't want you crawling back to me anymore." Will's voice was dead flat- completely uncaring.

Michael's snarl faded- replaced with the dawning realization of how he had been used- how Will really didn't care. How he had just been an idiotic kid, ready to believe anything.

Will shut the door in Michael's face- leaving him to his tears.

***

Michael dangled his legs off the side of the bridge- staring across the water as he tried to think these things out. For so long it had been him and Will- since before he knew Geoff. Will was the one who brought him to the city, Will was the one who got him a job.  
Sure- it was as a whore, but money was money. He knew that he would do the same.  
Will had been the one to love him, the one to first apologize if they got into a fight. He'd always show up with flowers or a gift and tell Michael how much he loved him- how sorry he was for yelling, for hitting him. Michael always felt terrible for the things he said and did too- and they always ended up back together.

Michael curled his hands into fists- just now realizing how stupid he had been. 

***

"You are, without a single doubt in my mind, the love of my life- and I'm so sorry for yelling at you." Will had said, holding out a bouquet of flowers at Michael's door. 

That was back when they had lived together- Michael had locked him out of the apartment after the fight. Michael had taken the flowers, hesitant to let him back into their place.

"It's just hard when you get like that, I'm sorry." There it was, that's how Will had written off his behavior that time.

Michael had given an apology of his own, and they forgave each other. Of course they did- living like everything was fine until the next fight.  
On and on until they broke up and Michael found Geoff- living with him until it became too much. He still technically lived with Geoff but would sneak out to see Will, to beg for forgiveness and be let back in.

***

But now he didn't have Geoff, as he stared out across the river. All he had was his baggage- both figurative and his backpack which was sitting beside him.

How had he been so stupid?  
Will was the one who made all the decisions, he was the one who called all the shots. It was subtle enough at first that he didn't notice- but now it's so obvious he couldn't stand it.  
Will never liked it when he over-ate- he always wanted him to be a bit thinner. It had felt as if Will was just motivating him, encouraging him to go to the gym, or not eating the extra bit of dessert. After a while it just began to feel like he wasn't good enough- that he wasn't making him happy. Will always told him what to wear, what to do, how to act. Whether Michael wanted sex or not they had it- all in the name of making him happy. And he was fine with it- after all, sex was a thing that he because very used to over the years.  
And Michael had accepted it in return for his fake love.

***

Geoff scrambled to get dressed, throwing on his coat and barely remembering his keys. He was out the door in a moment, in his car and on the way to the only place he could think Michael could be. The bridge was always where he ran to- though Geoff didn't know why it helped when he took off leaving nothing behind but a note.  
Though, there wasn't any sign of Michael in the penthouse. All of his things had been packed up- who knew where he could be by now. Hell, if he wanted to be he'd be halfway across the country. Geoff hoped that he'd be in that same place- just sitting on the edge of the bridge like he always was.  
He hoped and prayed that it wasn't too late- that he hadn't thrown himself off the edge yet.

Geoff pushed the gas a little harder to get to the bridge in time.

***

"I'm sorry." 

Michael had spoken before Geoff was even close- just loud enough for him to hear. Sure enough he was sitting near the edge- not close enough to go over- hunched there with his backpack.  
Geoff sat next to him, close enough that Michael could lean his head against Geoff's shoulder.

"I can't do it." Michael rasped, his voice raw and barely a whisper. 

Geoff could hear that he had been crying, could see the shake in his shoulders.

"I tried before, you know. But I could never do it. I always ran back to him and he'd let me in-" Michael curled in on himself- tucking his knees up to his chest.

Geoff moved to wrap an arm around him- but before he could Michael was in his arms. Slowly he wrapped his arms around his sobbing frame, trying not to think about how he could feel every bone in his body.

"I should have told you about him sooner- I'm sorry." Michael choked, pressing himself closer to Geoff's chest.

"It's alright- it's gonna be okay." Geoff reassured, whispering comforting nothing's until Michael began to loosen up.

"I've never told anyone- it was only ever him. And I didn't want you to know because I just kept running back-" Michael choked, but pulled out of Geoff's embrace. "But he was never really there for me. He just wanted my body." 

"Shh, it's gonna be okay." Geoff tried to calm him, giving a reassuring touch to his back.

Michael leaned in to the touch with a sigh, slumping down against Geoff.

"I guess I did know that- I think I always did. But it still hurts, though." He added, swiping at a tear. "I'm sorry."

"Shh," Geoff wrapped an arm around him. "It's okay. You don't need to apologize. I love you."

"But that's all I was good for, Geoff. I've been- I was with him for years- that's all I know." Michael resisted softly, his voice barely a shaking whisper.

"How other people treat you never defines how much you're worth, Michael. Things will be okay."

And Michael could almost believe it, half asleep in the passenger seat of Geoff's car and headed home. Things would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry?

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to make this into something bigger but ehhh
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at Supertinydom!


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